


Lost And (Cannot Be) Found

by myracingthoughts



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Missing Scene, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: A cigarette dangled off her lips, threatening to fall several yards into the garden of the capital.Click.Click. Curse.Sob.It was the cough behind her that forced her head around, fingers quickly swiping at her cheeks. She spotted the Captain lingering in the shadows. Conscious. Not in some deep fugue state that had even tempted her for a moment.Steve took the lighter from her hand without a word, easily flicking it on. Cupping his hand around the flame, he brought it to the tip of the cigarette as Nat took a shaky breath.A post-Snap snapshot.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Lost And (Cannot Be) Found

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic is in the same universe as my Taserhawk series, [Lover Come Back](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773718), but there's no required reading. Fun fact: I originally wanted to do a series of these post-Snap vignettes, because if Marvel was going to hurt me, they should at least give me the good scenes. 
> 
> Special thanks to @treaddelicately for reassuring me about this fic, which has been sitting at 90% complete for months.

The power was out again.

Only the moonlit the sprawling earth below. The rolling blackouts were almost comforting, watching the city around them reduced to dark in an instant, urging the country to sleep. As if they’d wake in the morning to find this all a bad dream. As if they were that lucky to dream such awful things.

In reality, enough of the technicians in charge of the power grid had been blown into dust to send Wakanda into disarray. No one was waking up from this. Not even in a country as advanced as this one. 

It seemed even futuristic societies were affected by human emotions. 

Grief. Misery. Death.

All old news to Natasha Romanoff. Put them together, and it was practically a typical Tuesday. 

Except, maybe, today.

Today was the exception to the rule.

It had been hours since the last of them fell to their knees at the realization Thanos got precisely what he wanted in one, effortless snap. Hours since sunset. Hours since she’d tried to get a hold of Clint, halfway across the world. It had taken dozens of tries to get through, but eventually, she heard his voice.

And as much as she’d wanted to cry, wanted to bawl, really, and break down in the only safe place she’d known her whole life beyond being alone, Clint _wasn’t_ alone. He had Darcy Lewis, even if she wasn’t really sure _how_. And he was safe. 

So, now Natasha had to find her own way to get through this without dragging him into the mess that was her feelings.

Which is why she was dangling her feet off the edge of a palace balcony, fiddling with a lighter whose wheel refused to turn. Natasha wouldn’t admit that her hands weren’t cooperating with her —an operational issue, really— still shaking from the events of the day.

A cigarette dangled off her lips, threatening to fall several yards into the garden of the capital.

 _Click_. _Click_. Curse. 

Sob. 

It was the cough behind her that forced her head around, fingers quickly swiping at her cheeks. She spotted the Captain lingering in the shadows. Conscious. Not in some deep fugue state that had even tempted her for a moment. 

Steve took the lighter from her hand without a word, easily flicking it on. Cupping his hand around the flame, he brought it to the tip of the cigarette as Nat took a shaky breath.

“Thanks,” she offered quietly. 

She shook the pack of cigarettes in her fist, flicking up out of the package as an offering. There was no surprise in her expression when Steve picked it out and, in one smooth motion, lit it and took his first drag.

“Thought you’d still be in meetings with our newly-crowned Royal.”

Okoye had taken on a leadership role in the royal family’s absence. And while it had been touch and go, even with technological innovations on their side, international contact had been made with several members of the UN.

So at least they weren’t preparing for an invasion or anything.

Natasha quietly supposed it _could_ have been worse.

But Steve and the rest of the survivors didn’t look any lighter as they left any of the dozen or so meetings they’d been pulled into. No one seemed to have any answers for how to even begin to address this publicly. And plans? They didn’t even have an ounce of an idea of where to start with that.

How do you plan for the future when half of the past, their foundation and their family were wiped out with a snap?

And sitting here now, seeing the lines in his face in the dim light that aged him ten more earthly years, Natasha knew Steve was just as lost as she was.

They’d spent a lot of time together in the years before today, running covert campaigns on the ground on almost every continent. It had been part spy game and part waiting game. All those weeks holed up in less than desirable off-the-grid accommodations, just trying to keep off of anyone’s radar with no one place to call home. Taking it day-by-day, hour-by-hour sometimes.

And Steve, for his part, had played the dutiful leader.

But now?

“There’s only so many times you can politely say we lost and we have no idea what the fuck is going on,” Steve admitted, voice like sandpaper in the night air.

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat at knowing the man in charge— of what was left of the Avengers, at least— was just as lost as she was. She wasn’t sure if it was comforting or depressing, not that she could feel much of anything, but at least it was the truth.

And, no matter how shitty the situation was, Natasha Romanoff demanded nothing but the truth.

There was no coddling or inspiring quotes. No meaningless niceties that people said in the worst of times. No, that made one weak, one susceptible to feelings and pain and loss.

And Natasha Romanoff couldn’t handle any more loss.

“Clint alright?”

Natasha’s stomach lurched a little at the name, with that split second of panic before the realization set in. Her grip hardened on the edge of the railing for a moment. The guilt of leaving him behind on this mission, not calling him in when they were preparing for battle, started to set in.

But Clint was safe. That was the critical part. Even if he wasn’t exactly pleased with her.

“A little shaken up, but he managed to hook up with Lewis in Bed-Stuy,” She sighed, tilting her head back further to stare up at the night sky.

“Hook _up_?” Steve tried to clarify with a raised brow.

“Probably not,” Natasha mumbled, taking back a lungful of smoke. “Darcy was pretty pissed at him when they called it off.”

The vapour turned and twisted in front of her, and Natasha’s eyes started to blur as she tried to keep up with it. Every detail seemed sharper tonight, she realized. Like her mind was trying to imprint every second of this experience, of this spectacular failure, into her memory forever.

Cataloguing every chilling detail.

Steve sighed, “I think this whole situation kind of trumps the whole exes thing. Makes you wonder who she had left in her life if Clint was even still in her phonebook.”

For a second, Natasha wondered if he meant a physical notebook with names and addresses and dates. The kind suburban moms kept stowed in the kitchen next to hand-written cookbooks and magazine recipe cut-outs.

And then, for a split second, she wondered if that was cruel of her— assuming the worst of the man out of time. 

But then the guilt bubbled like acid in her gut, feeling bad for thinking thoughts that would have been normal or playful any other day. As much as humour was Natasha’s best ice-breaker in a situation like this— when they were hoping against hope— she knew it wasn’t the time or the place.

“Who would you have called?” Natasha asked before she could think about the impact, too numb to think further ahead than the words tumbling out of her mouth.

Steve’s snapped to look at her, as if he was questioning her motive, the intention baked into the tone.

And when he finally turned back and took a gulp of air, his voice was the quietest she’d ever heard it, “My ma, if she was still around. Then Buck. Then Rebecca when he didn’t answer. But uh, these days? Probably you.”

Natasha’s brows shot to her hairline, breath hitching as the words rung out.

“Me?”

She hated how perplexed she sounded, how fucking hopeful and naive. As if it really made a difference in a situation like this. In what had been the equivalent of a warzone. In a reality where the world had been sliced in half by a purple alien.

 _That’s_ what got her?

“You always seem to know what’s going on,” Steve smiled to himself, “or know enough to pretend you do. And that’s comforting enough in times like these.”

“Is that why you’re out here?” Natasha countered, trying to take hold of the interrogation.

“Part of the reason.”

“And the other parts?”

He shifted a little, enough for his arm to brush hers, the warmth emanating from him like a living space heater. It was half of the answer, Natasha would wager, this closeness, this magnetism that seemed to be between them on days much better than today.

“Just checking in on you.” Steve paused as if he was weighing his words. “I know that being the strong one can take a lot out of a person, especially when there is no right answer. No solution. No semblance of a plan that even all of us with our heads put together could form.”

Natasha tensed, fists clenching as she said the only words she knew were true, “It’s just us. We’re all that’s left, Steve.”

Her words seemed to ring out into the night, and for a moment, Natasha thought she’d stumped him. Until Steve cleared his throat and planted his elbows against his thighs, fingers kneading at his forehead.

“I know. It’s all _on_ us, now.”

She reached out to touch him with her free hand, clasping his forearm to ground him to the moment. Bring him back down to reality as he neglected his cigarette, already toppling over the balcony’s edge— not that he would’ve cared, had he noticed.

“It’s not all on _you_ , Steve.” Natasha’s tone turned more serious, eyes snapping to his to find that familiar red ring around them. “You know that, right?”

Steve couldn’t seem to form words, looking down at the ground below like he hoped to find them in the dark.

“All those people… Billions.”

“Hey,” she soothed, slipping her hand into his and squeezing. “Bad shit happens all the time. This is nothing new. We’ll get them back, Steve.”

But they both knew this felt different. 

“You’re right.”

And as tough of a front as Natasha was putting up, there was a lot of doubt and uncertainty lingering below the surface, saying words she didn’t entirely mean just to make him feel better. It was unlike her— this whole thing was unlike her, with the confident veneer fading out into the night, leaving the shell of the woman she once was.

Raw and silent and devoid of answers.

Maybe she didn’t need them, she realized, as Steve threaded his fingers between hers and brought them to his mouth, setting a firm kiss on her knuckles.

“You’re right,” he insisted in that firm Captain America voice like he could see right through to her self-doubt. “Your instincts are always right, Nat. You can’t doubt them now.”

Those simple words, that simple _act_ of belief, of reassurance, sent the wall she’d spent so hard building up toppling down. Flicking the last of her cigarette butt onto the ground below, Natasha’s breath caught in her throat as the tears fell. The ones that had been clinging to her lashes since Steve found her out there in the dark. For all the people who couldn’t be there with them, lost or misplaced or just plain gone.

Gone and maybe never coming back.

Natasha was halfway through the first real gasp for breath when he pulled her into his chest, feeling the rumble of his steady words against her sobs, “We’re going to get them back. We will.”

Now their mantra, with one important addition for both of them.

“We have to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. All comments, kudos and bookmarks are loved and cherished.
> 
> I also [take prompts on my Tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/post/635410523601649664), if you'd like to see any more of this or anything else I write.


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